Ghostbusters: Kansas City
by Akktri
Summary: A spinoff involving new characters and some old ones.
1. Chapter 1: Bloody Mary

The girl's bathroom was dark, illuminated only by a couple candles on the marble counter. Two girls in Catholic school uniforms, a blonde and a brunette, stood in front of a mirror, twisting the faucet handles on and off, on and off. They flushed the toilets exactly ten times, then returned to the mirror.

"Bloody Mary," said the blonde.

"Bloody Mary," said the brunette.

They flicked the light switch on and off, then chanted the words again.

Suddenly a glowing red face appeared in the mirror.

The girls took one look at it and screamed, running for the door.

They tried the handle, but it wouldn't open, even though it didn't actually have a lock.

When they looked back, they saw a swirling vortex appear in the glass, and a powerful vacuum sucked the air out of the room, tugging on their clothes, pulling their hair, unraveling the rolls of toilet paper from the open stalls, drawing everything impossibly toward the mirror.

The force gained intensity, the girls sliding with a scream across the tile floor.

They grabbed hold of the supporting posts beneath the stall doors, legs flying in the air like they were in a wind tunnel.

A roll of paper towels slid off a shelf, slamming into the brunette's head.

She let out a scream as her hands involuntarily let go of the stall.

"Jackie!" the other girl shouted, but she was too afraid to move.

Jackie's body flew over the sink, her hands flailing at anything that could possibly offer purchase.

"Becky!" she cried, but her friend was in no position to stop her.

"Help!" she screamed in hopes of being heard from outside.

Her fingers caught hold of the lip of the marble counter, but it was wet, and her feet went through the mirror.

The mirror didn't shatter. Instead, it rippled and her feet disappeared.

She slipped, and her calves went in.

She grabbed the faucet, but it was hot. Scalding hot, like it had just been poured into a mold at a faucet factory.

She let go with a scream, her entire body vanishing into the mirror.

Now in tears, Becky kept holding on to the stall.

For a moment, the air seemed to settle, but then the horrible red face appeared right next to her, and she let go with a scream.

She flew backwards and her head hit the counter.

She fell unconscious, hurtling limply through the rippling mirror.


	2. Chapter 2: Maurice Schwann

The building was brick. Typical barn-like church architecture. The sanctuary connected to a long square structure with a basketball court and windows cluttered with educational bric-a-brac. The words Christ The King School were carved into the stone divider between the bricks.

A pair of men stood near the double doors at the rear, illuminated by a single flood light.

"Mr. Schwann, thank you for coming on such short notice," said one of the figures, a squatty fat man in a black outfit and clerical collar. "I called the Ghostbusters, but they're away in New York handling some ghost or another. I've heard of your Communiversity courses, so I figured you're the next best thing. No offense."

"None taken."

The man who had been called was named Maurice Schwann, author of several books on ghosts and the paranormal. He had a head of gray hair, sharp blue eyes and a bird-like nose. He'd been walking the dogs with his wife at the time he'd been called, so in each hand he held a leash, a huge yellow labrador on his left, a big husky on his right. The canines strained against the leashes, generally refusing to stay still.

"I'd be delighted to help. What are we working with?"

The priest visibly trembled, pushing a door open.

Schwann tugged his dogs in that direction, and they bolted through the opening.

"Wait!" the priest cried. "You can't take pets in there!"

"They're spirit seeing dogs," Schwann replied, dashing in before he could be stopped.

The dogs sniffed their way down the polished tile floor, poking their nose into corners, pausing at lockers, ripping papers off the wall.

They found one locker particularly fascinating, so much so that they would not leave the door.

"Aha!" Schwann shouted. "I found something!"

The priest was out of shape, and it took him a full minute to huff over to him. "I must insist that you leave those dogs outside!"

Schwann ignored him, pointing to the locker. "Can you open that up?"

With a shrug, the priest pulled out the master key and did so.

Inside was a bucket of Kentucky Fried crispy chicken, which the dogs immediately buried their muzzles into.

Schwann pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his plaid coat, smacking the lab in the head. "Sunshine, no! Bad girl!"

"Take those dogs outside! I'm not going to ask again!" the priest screamed.

Suddenly, he fell silent, staring at a plastic bag resting on a pile of soiled laundry.

At last he said, "Is that marijuana?"


	3. Chapter 3: No Pets Allowed

"I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour," the priest was saying into his cel phone as he followed Schwann into the girl's restroom. "But well, we found marijuana in your son's locker." He paused. "Yes, it was a routine inspection, and we found it there." Another pause. "Now really, Mr. Guzman. I'm a man of the cloth. What motive would I have for planting drugs in your son's locker?...Hello? Hello?" He frowned at the phone.

Schwann flipped a light switch. "You said that the ghost was connected to these disappearances?"

"No I did not. I said that two of my students had vanished, and there were reports of ghosts in this bathroom."

"Hmmm..." Schwann picked on a glob of wax stuck to the marble countertop. "Were these candles here before the disappearances?"

His yellow lab urinated on the floor.

"Are you going to clean that up?" the priest growled.

"Eventually. What do you make of these candles?"

The priest crept red faced around the spreading puddle. He gave the candles a cursory glance. "Those are black candles," he said. "Someone must have gotten them from one of those occult bookstores."

Schwann turned a candle upside down. "Scary's Halloween Outlet," he read.

"Well, I'll unlock the janitor's closet."

"Good idea. There might be some spectral activity in there."

Schwann dropped the leashes and took out a cel phone, pushing buttons.

"Who are you calling?"

"Nobody. I have an app that measures psychokinetic energy."

The priest frowned at the dogs. "They don't bite, do they?"

Schwann waved the phone at the stalls, producing a low humming sound. "Not usually."

"I know I probably shouldn't ask a question like this, considering your absolute lack of professionalism, but how exactly can you use a game on a cel phone to find ghosts?"

Schwann waved it around the sink and the noise raised in pitch. "It's a similar principle to EVP. The receiver picks up disturbances in the air particles and the camera picks up invisible energy signatures with modified software."

"I see," the priest frowned.

Schwann pointed the camera at the mirror, and the humming turned into a high pitched whine. "No. *I see*."

He grabbed the mirror frame, feeling along the edges. "How long have you had this?"

The priest shrugged. "That's been there since the school has been built. Why?"

"I'd like to take it home to do a few tests, if I may."

"You may not!" the priest scowled. "This is ridiculous! Give me one good reason why I should even pretend to consider your suggestion!"

"There is a high degree of psychokinetic energy surrounding this object. I'm certain this has something to do with the ghost sightings that have been reported in this area."

The priest's eyes narrowed. "That mirror is worth at least fifty dollars, plus your dog just crapped on my floor."

Schwann replied by elbowing the mirror as hard as he could. It didn't shatter.

"Stainless steel. You can't keep nice things around the kids. Or bumbling oafs like yourself."

At this point, something just snapped in the priest's mind. "Out."

"What?" Schwann stammered.

"You heard me! Remove yourself from these premises at once before I call the cops!"

"Fine," Schwann smirked. "I wish the best of luck to you with your ghost problem."

And he led the dogs to the door.

"Be careful where you step!" he said as he marched out. "I think there might be a couple landmines!"


	4. Chapter 4: Louis Tulley

Schwann left the building with his dogs and a mocking sneer. Having completed his business at the school, he resumed the route he normally took to exercise his pets, a long stretch of sidewalk along a row of large stone houses that the upper class lived in.

His eyes caught a glimpse of red and white on the door of a Honda Civic, but he ignored it until he found himself being approached by a slack jawed man with Coke bottle glasses and a brown polo with a red-white logo on it.

Schwann stared at the red circle with the crossed out ghost in the center, then looked up at the stranger's pointy nose.

"Hi," the man said. "Your wife told me you'd be going this way. Schwann, right?"

"Yeah," he said uncertainly.

The stranger offered his hand. "Louis Tulley. Public relations for Ghostbusters LLC. Listen. I've heard good things about your contributions to parapsychology and the paranormal and I really think we should get together some time to discuss the opening of a Ghostbusters franchise here in Kansas City." He handed him a little square of paper. "Here's my card. You can ignore the information about the Japanese restaurant on the back. I get a tax credit for advertising local businesses and their food really isn't bad. Say, do you use those dogs as part of your ghost hunting operations? If so I think I can help you with some deductions..."

"Did Father McGuire call you?"

Tulley gave him a blank look. "Who?"

Schwann frowned. "Never mind. You're really with Ghostbusters."

"Yes sir. Remember that time when the Statue of Liberty was stomping through Manhattan? I was there! I knocked a hole in the protoplasm covering the museum and helped the guys escape. It was great!"

Schwann rolled his eyes. "So why are you here?"

"The New York location is overstaffed, and they got tired of traveling across the country to investigate minor spooks. The way I see it, I'm doubling my income because I'm still on as retainer for their legal, tax and financial affairs, plus I get commission for any-"

A scream suddenly punctuated the air.

"What was that?" Schwann blurted.

"What was what."

Schwann frowned. "Someone screamed."

Tulley pointed at a spot beyond a copse of trees. "Do those clouds look funny to you?"

Schwann turned in that direction and saw swirling purple clouds, oddly bright and ominous shapes that stood in sharp contrast with the dark sky. "Looks like it's coming from Christ the King."

He led his dogs back the way he came.

"Wait," said Louis. "Let me get something out of the car."


	5. Chapter 5: Lottie

At twelve years of age, the little brunette girl with the pigtails had discovered a molecule previously unknown to the entire scientific community, or history, and the only thing she had done was move a few wooden sticks around on an atomic model.

Since then, she had discovered a new constellation, developed a smaller, more efficient device to search for radio signals on other planets (as well as strangers' phone conversations), permanent lipstick, and a compound that very slightly weakens the radioactivity of uranium.

Lottie Anderson, child prodigy. That's what the papers said.

Her first discovery took her out of grade school and into college on a full ride scholarship. The rest was just play.

At present, she stood in a high tech chemistry lab in the basement of Rockhurst University, dressed in a lab coat and goggles, with a test tube in each hand.

She stood in front of a lab table fitted with a mounted section of a filthy pipe from a bus station.

Slime absolutely oozed down the sides of the pipe, and if one looked down the business end of it, they'd see evidence of a long history of grease dumping, shaving, and the disposal of a whole barber shop's worth of hair. On a cross section, it resembled a clogged artery in a coronary patient.

Behind the table, Harold Eiffler, her chemistry instructor, stood staring at the contraption through a pair of a pair of battered hornrims with protective lenses clamped over the front. Instead of a coat, he wore a hideous yellow plaid shirt and high water pants with suspenders. He had the physique of a a coat rack.

Lottie climbed up on a step stool, poising one of her black rubber gloves over the top of the pipe. "Adding Compound B."

Harold nodded, notating something on a clipboard.

She poured a purple liquid in, creating a small puff of steam. Harold scribbled down an observation.

Lottie raised the other vial, dumping it in quickly. "Introducing Compound A."

At first, the reaction was like a foaming pipe snake, or a kid's science fair volcano. A lot of white foam dumping out the end of the pipe, and all over the table.

That in and of itself would have been fine, but at this point, the experiment went awry.

Without warning, the foam burst into flame, and the section of pipe turned into a blowtorch. The foam that hit the table blazed like lit gasoline, dribbling off the marble table top in a manner similar to hot napalm.

Seeming to expect this, Mr. Eiffler calmly pulled out a fire extinguisher, spraying it at the conflagration.

What he didn't plan for, however, was for those very fire suppressing chemicals to catch fire, turning the extinguisher into a flame thrower.

Worse, he found the flame could somehow crawl up the stream he was spraying, and with alarming speed.

When the fire jumped inside the red metal tank, he only had a second to throw it in the corner, pull the fire alarm, and shove himself and the little girl behind a lead shield.

The extinguisher exploded like a hand grenade, destroying a lab table, a glass cabinet full of scientific equipment, and a whole shelf of dusty textbooks.

The brilliant phosphor bursts did not bode well for anyone in the lab, but fortunately for the experimenters, at that precise moment the ceiling sprayers kicked on, and the whole room got a shower of dihydrogen monoxide.

It seemed that water was still not flammable.

Shaking with fright, and looking like a pair of drowned lab rats, the prodigy and teacher slowly peered over the desk, taking in the disastrous results of the experiment.

Oddly enough, the drain replica was still standing. Harold approached it with caution, staring down the opening.

"Well," he said. "You did clear the drain. The bad news is, the plumber will never again be able to take the pipe apart."

"Let's develop it as a lighter fluid," the girl said.

Harold nodded, jotting down a few more notes.

Lottie didn't really have anyone to eat with at lunch. The other students were all adults, twenty years old or older. She couldn't relate to any of them.

Her parents were both working, and the assumed she'd be safe enough as long as she didn't stray from public places.

And so she sat in the cafeteria, typing away in a scientific chat room as she dug into a peanut butter, salami, Pixie Stick and Corn Pop sandwich.

Someone was staring at her.

Looking up, she saw it was a read haired woman with green wireframes, lime green hoop earrings and a sleeveless blouse the color of a poker table.

Lottie narrowed her eyes, racking her brain to remember why the woman looked familiar.

She seemed a bit odd, lacking the usual books and paperwork marking her as a student or faculty. She carried no laptop, or even a lunch. She supposed the woman could be a parent, but it still seemed a bit off.

When their eyes met, the strange woman waved like she were greeting a child experiencing their first day in kindergarten.

Lottie rolled her eyes in annoyance. Who was this? A reporter?

The woman stood up, walking to her table.

She smiled. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," Lottie smirked. "If you don't mind my friend sitting next to you."

Seated at a table behind her was a muscular looking Hopi woman with a studded black biker's jacket.

So she wasn't completely alone.

The moment Lottie nodded to her, she got up, thundering into a chair next to the redhead visitor with enough clanking and chain rattling to make Marley's ghost jealous.

The woman didn't blink. She just pulled back a chair and settled in.

"Honey, you don't scare me," the woman said. "I come from New Yawk."


End file.
